


The Magic of Alcohol

by americonedreaming



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Remus has secrets, Sad Sirius Black, Slow Burn, bartender Remus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 15:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14428632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americonedreaming/pseuds/americonedreaming
Summary: Sirius Black and James Potter move into a shitty apartment in the East Village after graduating from NYU. James likes alcohol, and Sirius doesn't want to pay for public transportation, so they often end up at the bar right next door, where Remus Lupin and Lily Evans work.Sirius is a sadboi, James likes making drunk phone calls, Lily is an artist, and Remus has an angsty backstory.





	The Magic of Alcohol

**Author's Note:**

> (characters belong to JK Rowling) 
> 
> this is just a short intro to introduce kind of the background a little. upcoming chapters will be longer!

Sirius received the letter on a Wednesday. He had just finished moving into the apartment (well, he was still living out of boxes and suitcases, but all his things were present), had filled the fridge with the necessities, and James, who had been going to a shitty bar next door every night, was actually sober and not moping. It had been a good day for them both. Until the letter came. It had been addressed in inky script by an elegant and practiced hand–his mother's–and the envelope was made out of such high-quality paper that he was, for a moment, surprised that they had wasted it on him. Inside was a small square piece of paper, with the words a mess compared to the elegance of the script on the envelope. 

_Regulus is dead. He would've wanted you to know. Don't come to the funeral. -W. Black_

Suddenly, it became a not-so-good day, and that pub next door seemed like a good idea. 

* * * 

Remus hadn't exactly planned on working in a beat-up New York City bar, but he actually enjoyed it for the most part. There would be an occasional rude alcoholic, but usually the customers were polite and talkative, if a bit enraged, and were happy to share even the most personal facts with Remus - the alcohol helped. He found that he also had a knack for guessing the drinks that people were going to order based on their facial expressions - him and Lily, the other bartender (who probably was the reason for half of the customers, as female bartenders were an endangered species), made a game of it. She wasn't nearly as good as him, but she was much better at actually making the drinks. So far today, Remus had gotten 17 orders correct out of 18 (the lady with the pug ordered a martini with a twist, rather than an olive), and Lily 4 out of 24. He took pride in this talent, since, outside of his academic pursuits, it was his only one. 

His 19th customer looked like three shots of Vodka chased by a pint of beer. He had long hair tied in a bun at the back of his head, and was wearing one of the most disgusting t-shirts Remus had ever seen - the stains looked suspiciously similar to sweet-and-sour sauce - under a large leather jacket. Remus held up the bottle of Absolut Vodka, questioningly, and the customer nodded gratefully. 

“Just what I needed,” he stated, placing his forearms on the bar and leaning his chin on it, watching Remus pour a shot as professionally as he could. “I’ve had the worst fucking day.” 

Remus nodded, sliding the shot towards him. The customer just looked at it for a few seconds before sitting up and downing it, then returning to his former position. “Another one?” Remus asked, taking the glass. 

The customer shook his head. “Not yet. I’m gonna let this one work its magic first, mate, but thanks.” Remus nodded - was that a correct order or an incorrect? He’d have to put it aside for a moment - and returned to the tedious task of drying glasses and placing them on the correct shelves. “I’m Sirius, by the way.” 

Remus smiled to himself - this was his favourite part of the job, the personal stories that somehow got shared through alcohol. He picked up a whiskey glass and began wiping it off. “Remus Lupin,” he said concisely, nodding to Sirius as a greeting. “So, what’s your story?” 

“What do you mean?” Sirius responded, looking up at Remus from his position on top of the counter. He looked exhausted in a way that people only did after a trauma - a sloppy, pitiable exhaustion that consisted not of sweatpants on the couch but, rather, not getting out of bed for about three days. Remus didn’t doubt that fact - Sirius looked like the biggest mess he’d seen in a while. 

Remus shrugged in response. “It’s barely seven in the evening, and you’re here alone. Not to pry, but I’m curious. I’m also a lot cheaper than a therapist.” He placed the glass on the counter next to him and dropped the rag along with it, grabbing his glass of water and taking a sip, letting Sirius have some time to contemplate his offer. He put his glass down and checked the orders - table 6 wanted a Mojito. Sticky and time-consuming. Great. He grabbed a couple of mint leaves and some limes, and reached for the sugar. The shaker was already on the counter, and he poured in the rum and added ice. 

“My parents suck,” Sirius suddenly said. Remus looked up - he was still lying on his forearms, watching Remus make the drink. “I was cut off when I was, I don’t know, 16. They were racist, and homophobic, and … just generally assholes.” He paused, watching Remus break up the mint sprigs and add them to the rum, along with the sugar. 

“Now, that, I’m familiar with,” Remus muttered. He grabbed a lime and rolled it to get more juice out, then sliced it in two and put it in the citrus squeezer. 

Sirius cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, my mother just wrote and told me that my brother died.” They were both quiet for a few moments as Remus topped off the drink with club soda, then logged that the order was ready - within seconds, Lily was dancing his way to grab the drink with a grin. 

“Remus, another therapy session?” she joked, grabbing a peanut from the bowls on the bar and swiftly eating it. “You should have majored in Alcoholic Clinical Psychiatry instead of the numbers and things you’re doing now.” Sirius didn’t move a muscle, but rather closed his eyes for a second. 

“I’m sure that it will be very useful to be able to diagnose surgical patients with depression,” Remus answered, handing Lily a coaster to bring with the drink. “Now go, Lils. They’ve been waiting a while.” Lily grinned and turned away. 

Sirius opened his eyes again. “I’ll take that second shot now, please.” Remus nodded and did as asked. Sirius downed it right away this time. “You’re going to be a surgeon?” 

“I hope so. Neurosurgeon, if I can manage to pay my tuition through both my bachelor’s and Med School.” He cleared his throat, since he was not prone to sharing his own life story with the customers. “So, what about you? School?” 

“I just graduated from NYU with a degree in political science. Since I make little to no money and have no parents to support me, my tuition was practically nonexistent, so I didn’t have your problem.” He sniffed, closing his eyes again. “You go to Columbia?” 

“Yes,” Remus answered hesitantly. “Yes, I do. I’m a junior now.” 

Sirius kept his eyes closed, but started tapping his fingers on the bar. “I liked Columbia. Was rejected, of course, given my antics senior year. Do you know a Frank? I don’t know his last name. He’s dating a girl named Alice.” He opened his eyes to look at Remus, who shook his head. “What about … Mary MacDonald?” 

Remus nodded, “Lily and her are really good friends, they’re in a lot of the same art classes.” He then added, for clarification, “Lily is the, you know, other bartender. Anyway, I’ve met Mary a couple of times. How do you know her?” 

Sirius closed his eyes once more. “Dated her. A while. Could I have another shot?” Remus poured one quickly and watched as he sat up with some effort to down his third shot. Only a beer and Remus would be 18 out of 19. “Uh, I hate vodka. My best friend, James, knew her from a very young age. They’re.. y’know.. friends. Family friends.” He leaned against the counter again, but kept his eyes on Remus. 

He felt like there was too much pressure. He liked relying on the customer, drunk and sad, to make conversation and talk. He cleared his throat again, and took another sip of water. “Were you and your brother close?” 

“No, not recently. Until I left for boarding school, I s’pose. He fell in with the wrong crowd, and I was disowned, and that was it. My parents brainwash people.” He propped his head up on his hands, but seemed to immediately regret this and laid down on the bar again, this time face down. “Shit.” 

Remus didn’t feel the need to respond, thinking that he needed time to think to himself, so he picked up another glass to dry. Twelve glasses later, Sirius still hadn’t moved. Remus carefully prodded his head, with no response. He immediately started worrying that Sirius had died, so he, with a lot of effort, turned Sirius’ head to check if he was breathing. He got his answer when Sirius let out a loud snore. 

“Oh. Okay,” Remus looked around for a second. He didn’t know what to do. People usually didn’t fall asleep when he was working, since he never had a shift after 10 p.m. He tried to get Lily’s attention, but to no avail. He walked around to the other side of the bar, and poked Sirius in the arm. “Hey, Sirius. Sirius,” he tried, pushing his arm. “Time to wake, Sirius. You’ve gotta have a beer, otherwise I’ll be 17 of 19, which is just not as good.” He shook him gently, but Sirius only groaned before moving away slightly from Remus’ touch. “Okay.” He checked Sirius’ pocket for an address book, phone, anything, and found an outdated iPhone. Luckily he had no password, and he went into the Message section and found that the most recently messaged was James, the one Sirius had mentioned earlier. He pressed call. 

_“Sirius, where are you, mate? I got pizza.”_

“Hi, is this James?” Remus asked hesitantly. 

He heard a cough. _“Yeah, who is this? Did you rob Sirius? I’m tellin’ you, this phone is worth ten dollars at most.”_

Remus cleared his throat and tried to poke Sirius awake again. “No, not quite, actually. Sirius fell asleep at the bar. At _Hokie’s_. On East 3rd and Avenue C. Our bouncer isn’t here yet and, … well, I can’t carry him.” 

_“Oh, fuck, okay, we live right next door, I’ll be there in a second.”_ James hung up without further ado. 

  


Five minutes later, a disheveled man burst through the door. He had short, impressively messy, hair and glasses, and he laughed as soon as he saw Sirius’ collapsed form. “I’m James,” he said extending his hand. Remus shook it politely, “and I assume you’re the one that stole Sirius’ shit phone.” 

“No, actually, I didn’t steal it, after you told me its value. I’m Remus, by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you. I’ve been here many a night lately, but I haven’t seen you. You look like a kid. Are you allowed to be here?” 

“Uh, well … it’s a long story. But, you said you lived right next door? I can help you carry him, if you want?” Remus motioned to Sirius, who had a lot more muscle than Remus could even dream of. “Unless you’re Wonder Woman under that sweater.” 

James grinned, “No, I got him, it’s fine. Can I have a glass of water though?” Remus reached over the counter and grabbed a glass, filling it up to the brim using the soda gun. James grabbed it and proceeded to pour it all over Sirius’ face. He spluttered, but opened his eyes immediately, looking delirious. James pulled him to a standing position, and leaned him on his shoulder as he practically pulled a half-awake Sirius out of the door. 

And that’s how Remus Lupin met Sirius Black.


End file.
